The Kicker
by dirao
Summary: Lit. Some things just need to get physical. Rory goes the karate route on Jess’s Dodger ass and gets quite a result. M for the F word. Trying out a new something I'd like to call Humorous Angst...


**THE KICKER**

**Summary:** Some things get physical. Rory goes the karate route on Jess's Dodger ass and gets quite a result.

**Rating:** M for the F-word.

**Disclaimer: **The plotline and weird cheerios reference is my own. Gilmore Girls and Cheerios, however, are not. Don't sue. I'm eating corn flakes tonight.

- - - - - - - -

**The Kicker**

She had expected that Jess would show up sooner or later. She had seen him sleeping in his car the day before the Firelight Festival. It had been enough to make her want to miss the entire festival and spend the weekend sitting in her mother's house, pretending that everything was fine.

But she had never expected to find him here, sleeping outside her dorm's door.

He'd obviously been here a couple of days, the campus was almost empty, most of the people packing or already headed home for Christmas break. Paris would be over at Asher Flemming's, Tana and SportySpice – as Paris had begun calling her - had gone home already.

He was skinny and pale. He was shivering in his sleep. He was asleep at her doorstep.

Only one logical thing a girl like Rory could do. She poked him with her foot.

More like a soft nudge.

But swift.

It could in all honesty be called a kick.

In any case, it woke him up.

"What was that for?" he asked, coming out of his sleep.

"Do you really have to ask, Jess?" Rory asked. And then she couldn't help it. She kicked him again.

"Ow!" Jess complained. He started to try and stand up, groping the wall behind him.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jess?"

"Didn't know that word was in your vocabulary," he said, weakly. He was leaning against the wall and he was sweating.

"Question, answer. That's how it works," Rory pointed out. She noticed the dark circles around his eyes, the sweat running down his forehead.

"I just wanted to see you," he said, his voice shaky. He tried to take a step closer to her, but his legs would not carry him. He slumped to the floor.

And then he passed out.

"Fuck," Rory muttered under her breath. If there was one thing Jess knew how to do, was to make an exit. Even if it was just an exit from consciousness.

- - - - - - - - -

She had somehow managed to grab onto one of his arms and wrap it around the back of her neck, and then she had stood up and sort of dragged him with her. He was heavy, but not as heavy as he should be. He looked malnourished.

She managed with a certain amount of difficulty to get him onto her bed. She took off his jacket, the same stupid leather jacket. He was still out cold.

She had expected markings befitting her idea of the life he led. Track marks, tattoos, scabs, bruises. She found none. Just… skin and bones. Ok. So not an overdose.

He was running a fever, that much she could tell. But not much else. After all, she'd never taken care of a single soul her entire life. Not a pet, not a human being. Hardly even herself.

"Jess, wake up," she said. Nothing.

"JESS!" she yelled. No reaction.

She slapped him.

Nope, that wouldn't do.

She kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom. Rummaging around she found a discarded washcloth. She ran cold tap water on it and wrung out the excess water.

She placed the washcloth carefully on Jess's forehead and stood back.

Damn him.

She had wanted to have it out with him, talk, scream, fight. She hadn't seen him in at least six months. How was this fair? Now she was trying to get him conscious.

Conscious enough to kick his ass, she told herself.

Ok. Next step. What to do.

She couldn't very well call her mother. Oh, hi, mom. How do you get someone's fever to break? Nope, can't take Tylenol, because he isn't conscious to swallow.

Maybe she could call Luke. But then again, Jess had been sleeping in his car outside the diner, that meant that Luke probably wasn't that interested in helping Jess out.

Maybe she could call the hospital.

Though he probably had no insurance and she had very little money at this very second. Plus, he hated hospitals. Although, right now, he didn't seem like he'd care either way.

It would be nice if she knew any doctors.

Hmm…

Was that an idea forming in her mind?

- - - - - - - -

"This better be good, Gilmore," Paris said, walking into the room wearing pajamas under a heavy men's coat. "What's James Dean doing here?" she asked.

"He was waiting for me and then he passed out," Rory explained.

Paris shook her head. "Why did you call me?" she asked, panicking.

"Well, you're pre-med. I've never so much as put a band aid on someone else."

"How high is his fever?" Paris inquired.

Rory shrugged. "Fuck should I know?"

"Kerouac here brings out the best in you. Ok, there should be a thermometer in my first aid kit. That's in box number 3."

Rory searched Paris numbered boxes. She found the first aid kit.

Paris shook the thermometer and stuck it in Jess's mouth. "We should get him to a hospital," she said.

"Not unless it's absolutely necessary."

"He looks like shit," Paris pointed out.

"Noted."

"Fever's high," Paris said, looking at Rory. "He'll start cooking from the inside out soon enough."

"Is it the flu?" Rory asked.

"Can't tell," Paris said, leaning in to listen to Jess's chest. "Breathing sounds normal."

"What can we do here?" Rory asked.

"He's not gonna like it," Paris started.

"Better than being unconscious."

"Depends," Paris replid, shrugging. "Take off his pants."

"What?" Rory asked, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.

"Oh, like you haven't wanted to take them off since junior year. Come on, hurry up!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"He's not as heavy as I thought he'd be," Paris pointed out. They were half carrying, half dragging Jess into the bathroom.

"He doesn't look like he's eaten in about a month," Rory countered.

Paris shook her head. "Not that much, but he definitely hasn't eaten in a while. Might be why he's so out of it."

"So this will help, right?" Rory asked, gesturing towards the tub. It was half-filled with cold water.

"It'll lower the fever, get him conscious enough to get some food in him… maybe. If he can't keep the food down, we'll have to take him to the hospital," Paris answered.

"And if it is the flu or something like that?"

"Well," Paris thought for a moment, at the edge of the tub. A very thin, very unconscious Jess, wearing only his boxers, was being held by Rory from under his arms, and by Paris from under his ankles. "If it is the flu we'll fast accelerate it to pneumonia. The bad news is it's pneumonia. The good news is you can cure pneumonia with antibiotics."

"You should do late night," Rory muttered, swearing under her breath. "You ready?"

"Ready," Paris replied.

"One… two…"

- - - - - - -

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!" Jess screamed.

Rory held him down by his shoulders, keeping his body immersed in the water. Paris did the same by holding his legs underwater.

"What the fuck are you doing? Let me out!!!!" Jess kept on screaming, his arms flailing but too weak to do much damage.

"We have to get your fever down, Kerouac," Paris explained, yelling just as loudly.

"IT HURTS!!" he cried out. Rory could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she held him down as hard as she could. "RORY, PLEASE, IT HURTS…" he pleaded, his eyes searching for hers, but she averted his gaze.

"Just let me take care of this, ok, Jess?" she asked, softly. She wasn't sure if he was listening or not.

He was crying.

She'd never seen him cry.

"Please… it hurts…" he kept saying, over and over, and over.

Until Paris said, "That's enough."

- - - - - - -

He wasn't strong enough to stand on his own. Wasn't strong enough to complain, either. Paris brought a pair of sweatpants and an oversized Yale t-shirt into the bathroom and decided it was best to leave Rory to her own devices.

Rory wasn't so sure that was a good idea.

Jess looked at her helplessly as she pulled down his soaking wet boxers and let them fall to the floor. He shivered, his teeth chattering. She tried not to look down, because she would just get more nervous.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, embarrassed, as she helped him dry off with a towel.

As she helped him into a pair of pants, she looked into his eyes for the first time that night. "You owe me a fight, ok? So you don't get to apologize now."

"Sorry," he repeated.

"Jess…"

He was all too aware that he was all too naked before her.

She helped him into the t-shirt as he sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid.

She dried his hair.

- - - - - - - - -

"I made soup," Paris announced as soon as Rory helped Jess back into the living room. She was intent on leading him back to the room but he was leading a bit stubbornly to the living room couch. "You beats eat soup, right?" Paris added.

Jess nodded absently.

"When was the last time you ate?" Rory asked.

Jess shrugged.

"It's time for the verbal thing to come back now," Rory said, sternly.

Jess's mouth remained firmly shut.

Paris stopped stirring the pot on the stove. She took a deep breath and started in on Jess. "Look, Kerouac, Gilmore here is apparently fond of you, or enough so not to take you to the hospital, probably a smart thing, because I'm betting there's a warrant out for your arrest or something. Now here I am, not yet sworn in with the whole Hippocratic Oath, so I might just first do some harm if you don't start answering some questions. Now, do you beats eat soup?"

"Yes," Jess answered, weakly.

"How do you feel?" Paris continued.

"Like crap."

"Elaborate."

"Headache, weak, dizzy."

"Been operated recently, shot at, stabbed?"

"Nope."

"Stomach?"

"Empty."

Paris nodded. "How long since you ate something?"

"Stole a sandwich five days ago."

"You didn't eat anything in Stars Hollow?" Rory asked.

Jess shook his head. "Needed to get my car running."

"To come here?" Paris asked.

"To get away," he replied. He looked down at his hands.

"Soup's almost ready," Paris said.

"Thanks."

"Two more things," Paris said, holding up one finger. Rory watched Jess's reaction with curiosity. "Are the police after you?"

"No."

"No because they shouldn't be or no because the river's too filthy to find the body?" Rory asked, trying to sting.

"Rory…" Jess attempted.

"Why are you here, Jess?"

Paris shook her head, and ladled the soup into a bowl. "Stop it, Gilmore." She handed the bowl and spoon to Jess. "Feed him now, kill him later."

"I can feed myself," Jess complained, slowly.

"Jess, trust me. In about five minutes, you won't be able to lift your head, much less a spoon. Shut up, eat, take some Tylenol, then sleep with the firm conviction that tomorrow Gilmore here will kick your ass."

Jess nodded.

"Good. Rory, Jess, it was nice to catch up with you both," Paris added, grabbing her coat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I left a very frisky man to come and play Florence Nightingale and it's time to go back."

"Bye, Paris," Rory said, cringing at the mention of Asher Flemming.

Paris waved and closed the door behind her.

"Frisky?" Jess asked, his breath louder than his words.

"You. Open your mouth only to breathe or let food in." Rory ordered.

Jess opened his mouth quietly, awaiting a spoonful of soup.

- - - - - - - -

She woke up to his blood-curdling screams. To get to him, thanks to his stubborn asshole insistence of sleeping on the couch, she stumbled over boxes and tripped on her pajama pants.

He was screaming with his eyes shut tight. He was dreaming. He was having a nightmare… Was he in pain? Tears squeezed past his closed eyelids.

She shook him awake.

"Jess… Jess, come on, wake up…" she repeated, until he woke. He seemed confused.

He was confused. "Rory?" he asked, as she touched the back of her hand to his forehead.

"You were having a nightmare."

"I was having a nightmare," he repeated after her.

Rory nodded. "Your fever broke," she added. "The wonders of Acetaminophen."

"Yeah," he said, weakly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. He was embarrassed, all tears and snot and weakness and pitiful, he felt. She wasn't supposed to see him like this. "It wasn't supposed to go like this."

"How was it supposed to go, Jess?" Rory asked, kneeling beside the couch where he was still lying down. The carpet was comfortable enough. "Did you think you'd come here and we'd start over fresh? Did you think you'd kiss me and everything would be alright?"

He shook his head, tired. "I would come back and show you that I was fine."

"I always thought you were fine. You left me, after all."

Jess shook his head again. "I didn't leave because of you."

"You didn't stay for me, either," Rory countered.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes searching hers. She refused to look at him. The patterns of every bit of carpet hypnotized her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice almost gone.

"At the end of the day, when the car was running and I had the road ahead of me, there was no other place to go," he said, closing his eyes. "I'll be out of here tomorrow morning.

"No," Rory said. "I still need my screaming. I want my mouthful of blood, Jess. You don't get to take off."

"Scream now."

Rory shook her head. She rested her face on the edge of the couch cushions, near his chest. Her body, curled up partially on the floor, found comfort. "Too tired."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Jess woke up looking for a way to escape. He had no money for gas, he would have to steal some. He had no money for food, maybe he could open the fridge without her noticing. There was the question of circumventing her body, which was dangerously close to him. She had slept on the floor next to him just so he could not run.

She was good.

"You're up," she said, stretching as he shifted his weight to lift himself up off the couch. "I only have cereal," she said, volunteering breakfast.

- - - - - - - - -- - -

The tears started flowing into a bowl of honey-nut cheerios, and there really was nothing he could think of saying to make her stop crying. He had been good at it before, he'd been able to make her stop crying. Except for that one time. It was what had made him leave. So much for the cheer in Cheerios.

She cried silently and the salty tears mixed with the two-percent milk in her bowl. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand and tell her it would all be alright, but he had learned not to promise things. He had never been able to keep promises. Honesty slipped from his grasp like so many grains of sand.

He braced himself for the yelling, the screaming. But she would not be that gentle, he knew.

"You left me," she whispered softly. She had been waiting to tell him exactly that for so long. "Why did you leave me? I was trying so hard to be there for you and you couldn't be honest with me, you couldn't tell me you were going away… And you didn't call, or you did call but you didn't talk, and you just left… You could've said something. You didn't let me say goodbye, and how do you end something without saying goodbye?" she asked her cereal. She wasn't asking him. Jess told himself that. He kept his hands on his lap, not moving, not speaking, not breathing. She wasn't saying anything to him until she looked up at him.

So she did. She looked up into his eyes, tears flowing unchecked as she spoke. "Why did you go, Jess? Why wasn't I enough?"

"Do you hate me?" he asked, meekly.

"Answer me!" she screamed.

"I had to leave, don't you see?" he asked. "I'd lied… so much. I told you I was dealing with school, but school was done with me. Luke was done with me. Your mother hated me and she was right, I was doing everything wrong with you… You were supposed to have a prom, presents, trumpets blaring, flowers. And I couldn't give you what you needed. And then Jimmy showed up and I thought, maybe if I know him I'll get why I'm such a fuck up. But he didn't want me. I told him I had nothing and he didn't get it."

"You had me. You had Luke."

"No. I'd ruined it with you and Luke. I had nothing. I have nothing."

Rory wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her fingers wiped off tears. "I want to hate you so much. But I can't."

"Yes, you can," Jess countered.

"I let you in last night."

"I'm a stray cat for you, Rory. You want to make me better, you want to fix me up, then your project will be done and you'll let me go and I'll have nothing once again."

Rory narrowed her eyes in anger. "If that's what you think of me, then why did you come here?"

"I told you last night."

"Tell me again."

"Because, when all is said and done, I have nowhere else to go."

Rory stood up from the table, almost knocking over her plate. "That's a lie, Jess, and you know it. There's an entire country out there without me in it. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?"

"Because I love you," he blurted out.

They looked at each other. Silence.

He grabbed his knapsack and stood up, heading for the door.

But Rory was faster.

One swift movement and she had blocked his exit with her body. "You don't get to leave now," she said.

"Rory, move."

"No."

"Rory…" he said, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. Losing his patience.

"No," she said.

And then she kicked him in the shin. Hard.

"Rory!" he complained, dropping his knapsack and rubbing the spot she had just kicked.

"You are not fucking leaving until you explain… no. You are not leaving until I say so. And I don't say so."

"Fine," he said. He headed over to the couch and took a book off the coffee table and opened it. "Fine."

"It's your own damn fault," she added. She locked the door from the inside and walked over to the window and tossed the key.

"You're insane," he added. "So how are you going to get out now?"

"When I'm good and ready, I'll figure it out."

- - - - - - - - - -

They sat in silence, side by side. He read. She stared.

He kept reading.

She reached over and touched his forehead. He backed away.

"I'm checking your fever, you idiot," she said.

He kept reading.

She got tired of this pretty quickly.

Time for a brand new kick.

"Ow!" He tossed the book aside. "Rory, you've got to fucking stop that!"

"You just sit there reading. How can you just sit there, reading, after saying something like that!?" She asked.

"You can lock me up here but you can't make me talk to you."

"YOU were the one that came here. YOU were the one who said… what you said."

"So?" Jess asked, reaching for the book on the floor. Rory stood up and kicked it away.

"Are you being thick on purpose? Do you want me to hit you?"

"What is it, Rory? You want me to say it again so you can shoot me down? I know you don't feel the same. I know you want flowers and a picket fence and 1.8 children and a Harvard man."

"You don't know shit, Mariano."

"Enlighten me."

Rory sat down in front of Jess, atop the coffee table. "I want an apartment with radiators and I want grilled cheese sandwiches and I want 22.8 miles and a high school drop out who gets his GED, who reads like it's going out of style and writes like his pen has heavy wings . And if you don't get that, if that isn't enough for you to try harder at being honest and being… real… then pick the fucking lock and leave. I know you can do that much."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it so that she would look at him. "If you don't get that I love you and that it scares me half out of my mind because I'm always going to be afraid that you will run, then you deserve to get kicked again."

"Why would you pick me, Rory?" he asked. "I can't promise."

Anything. He didn't add that. It was clear enough.

"I don't want promises. I want facts, actions, not intentions. I want you to apologize and I want us to move on. I want you to be here. Not literally here all the time, but here, you know?"

He shook his head.

"Stop being thick!" she yelled.

"Stop getting metaphorical!" he yelled back.

"I want you to be with me. Really with me. No lies. I want you to tell me before you go. And I don't want you to promise me this now. I want it to happen. Make it happen or pick the lock and be on your way," Rory finished.

She let go of his hand.

And then, just for good measure, she kicked him one more time.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she added, heading towards the bathroom.

Jess was left holding his bruised leg.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rory had expected to find the door open when she came out of the shower.

She just wasn't expecting her breath to leave her so soon.

She sunk to the floor clutching the towel to her chest. She was hyperventilating. She tried to calm down, but instead, sobs racked her frame.

And then she saw him emerge from her room, a thermometer in his mouth, Paris following him closely. "I think the fever is back," Paris said. Upon spotting Rory crying on the floor, Paris slapped the back of Jess's head. Only logical thing to do. "This is your fault, isn't it?"

Rory couldn't help laughing through the tears when Jess confirmed by nodding that, of course, it was his fault.

"Since when do you lock the door anyway, Gilmore?" Paris asked.

Jess took out the thermometer and handed it to Paris.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The fever was not back.

He did not pick the lock.

He helped Rory up off the floor, her hand securely clutching the bath towel.

"I thought you were gone."

"I can't promise."

"But you're here."

"I hate it when you cry."

Paris shook her head. "After school special. Blech. Out of here," she said, tossing Jess her keys. He caught them. "Good reflexes, you're cured, go home."

He would have said he was home if it had not been such a cheesy thing to say.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

A first kiss could be described here, the first kiss of the man previously holding a thermometer in his mouth and the woman previously sobbing on the carpeted floor of a Yale dorm room.

Maybe it would read something like: He helped her up from the floor and pulled her flush to his body. Their lips touched and they knew that everything would be alright.

But it would do more justice to this story to tell the truth, because though they had not made any promises, honesty could no longer escape them. It would haunt them, it would make them speak of phone calls and old friends and swans.

And so, it would be honest to describe the events immediately following Paris' closing of the dorm room door.

There was a swift kick, followed by a high-pitched, yet masculine, complaint.

Followed immediately by the voice of one fast-talking young woman, who said, "And this is for waiting freaking six months before coming back. And for passing out on my door."

"Will ya stop kicking me already?" Jess asked. At least she wasn't wearing shoes.

"And if I don't?" Rory asked.

"I won't kiss you," he said, his hands on her waist. His breath tickled her lips.

She shrugged. "Like I care."

Jess raised his arms in defeat. "Kick away."

Rory punched his arm. They had been so close and now he was backing away? Not on her watch. "Kiss me, you idiot."

"Fine. Fine. Whatever," he replied, pulling her close, his lips on hers, and finally ending the story like it should.

Kiss. Iris out.

The end.

- - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's note:** Just a little late Valentine's day piece I started for you guys. Thought you'd enjoy it. I'd been toying with the idea of a sick-Jess piece for a while, but it sort of got away from me and veered into a very odd territory for me: drop-kick Rory.

Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
